


Head Above Water

by Tedda



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedda/pseuds/Tedda
Summary: Jonny's in Patrick's arms when the Hawks publish the press release.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 18
Kudos: 128





	Head Above Water

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim yesterday to cope with the news. This is not how I wanted to be inspired but it was therapeutic to get this out of my system so here's a very self-indulgent fic. I really hope Jonny is okay and feeling better soon!
> 
> Many thanks to [ Kira ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkane88/pseuds/Kkane88) for betaing this so spontaneously!
> 
> Title taken from [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKF6ghfcQic&index=1&list=PL2jm7O-84IpSjNs4ef1KvT4Z1Bv8g9YJy) Avril Lavigne song.

Jonny's in Patrick's arms when the Hawks publish the press release.

Patrick was there when Jonny approved the text for his statement, he was there when the Hawks settled on a date to announce the news, and Jonny never doubted that he'd be there when the statements got published.

Nothing has changed over the last few days. Jonny's still not sleeping, he's still feeling drained, he's still terrified. But when the press release appears on his Twitter feed, something feels different. He squeezes his eyes shut and inhales and bites back the small sob threatening to leave his lips.

It's final now.

The tiny little spark of hope that he'd get a phone call with a diagnosis, that he'd wake up one day and the whole nightmare would be over, that he'd start the season with the rest of the guys is gone. Vanished with one simple news article.

It's official, and there's no way to take it back now. No way of pretending that everything is fine.

Jonny locks his phone, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, not bothering to check the replies or what the reporters are saying.

It doesn't make a difference.

Patrick's arms tighten around him; he leans back on the couch, pulling Jonny with him until his head is leaned back against Patrick's shoulders, his back flush with Patrick's chest.

"I'm sorry," Patrick whispers behind him, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Jon."

Maybe if Jonny blinks hard enough, the wetness is gonna disappear from his eyes.

Patrick's lips brush along the shell of his ear, his cheekbone, finally reaching the corner of his mouth.

He's been a rock through the entire thing—from the first few days when Jonny's insomnia was getting worse again to the truly bad stretches where he's been feeling dizzy and sick, barely able to crawl out of bed in the morning. Patrick was looking for noise-canceling headphones, sending him links to white noise videos even before Jonny was willing to admit that he wasn't sleeping. Then, Patrick took it upon himself to make phone calls and drive him to appointments and schedule and arrange everything so that Jonny only had to show up for whatever test the Hawks wanted to run.

The entire summer is a blur—Jonny's been closer to a zombie than a functioning human being—but Patrick's tolerated his frustration, anger, and anxiety with stoic patience. Jonny knows that he hasn't been very fun to be around lately, but Patrick never complained when he was the target of Jonny's whirlwind of emotions. He simply made sure Jonny ate and slept as much as possible, he kept their lives somewhat structured and did his best not to show Jonny how scared he was himself.

Patrick sat with Jonny through the nights when he wasn't sleeping, when the anger and frustration faded enough for his underlying anxiety to creep up. Patrick stroked his back when Jonny was sobbing into his pillow. He held his hand when Jonny let himself talk about how scared he was—that it was never gonna get better, that he was sick and dying but no one was seeing it, that he was gonna lose hockey and the rest of his life to a mysterious illness no one could explain.

Patrick's been the parachute that caught him when Jonny was falling, and he's been unwavering in his support, even when Jonny could feel the wetness on Patrick's own cheeks in the darkness of the night. He's never said a word, never made it about himself despite Jonny being able to feel Patrick's body trembling in his arms at night, curled up underneath the weighted blanket Patrick recently got for Jonny. He's always been there, exactly what Jonny needed, nothing but unconditional support and love.

So, if someone gets it, it's Patrick—the man who sat with him through his bad nights all those years ago when Jonny had a concussion, the man who still didn't hesitate to do it all over again now. Jonny doesn't have words to tell him how much it means, that Patrick is the sole reason why he's made it through some of the particularly bad days, that his arms around Jonny's body feel like his only anchor to the world right now.

He takes a deep breath, a small sob leaving his lips as he exhales the air.

In a weird, twisted way it's a relief that the news is official now, but the weight he expected to be lifted from his shoulders has merely been replaced by another looming feeling of desperation. Soon, he'll have to let Patrick go. Patrick is going to play hockey with the team that Jonny is supposed to be the leader of while Jonny splits his time between the doctor's office and his condo, waking up in an empty bed without the mug of coffee on his nightstand that he’s gotten so used to lately.

"It sucks," he whispers before he can beg Patrick to stay with him.

Patrick drops a kiss to his shoulder. "I know. But it'll get better. They'll figure it out."

"What if they don't?" The words are leaving his mouth in a rush, and Jonny realizes he's never said it out loud during the light of day when Patrick tenses behind him.

"You can't let yourself think that," Patrick says, voice quivering. "You need to trust the doctors. I know it's hard but you—"

"Do you?" Jonny interrupts.

Judging by how Patrick's flinching, it must come out a lot harsher than intended.

He tightens the grip of his fingers around his phone to steady himself, but it's like something has cracked, everything he's buried deep inside of him—beneath the shame of feeling that way—suddenly threatening to burst to the surface. The jealousy that Patrick still gets to work out and play, the frustration that he won't be there to help his team during what's going to be a terrible season, his own inability to just grind through it.

"You have no idea how hard it is," Jonny adds, unable to stop himself, his voice getting louder with every word. "I know you've worked hard to get to where you are, but you don't know what it's like to constantly fight your own body. How hard it is to struggle with your health even though you're doing so much more than other people to take care of yourself."

"Jonny," Patrick says, his voice surprisingly gentle. Why isn't he yelling back? He _should_ be yelling back when Jonny's acting like an asshole. "Please, they just released the statement, and of course you're upset but I think you should rest and—"

"That's easy for you to say. When you're not the one who's waking up in the morning feeling even worse. You're not about to lose hockey and sit back at home letting down your team. And you don't get to sit here and coddle me and pretend that everything is okay when we both know it's not."

It's not fair to use Patrick as his punching bag. He's done absolutely nothing to warrant being the target of Jonny's irrational emotions, but it's like there's an itch inside of him that he can't get rid of, that's slowly been driving him crazy.

He's snapped at Patrick countless times over the last few months—when his tea was too hot or not cold enough, when the mattress was too harsh and the white noise playing in the bedroom too loud, when the doctor had yet another negative test result for him, when he had to stop in the middle of one of his workouts because it was too much. Patrick's taken every snappy remark in stride and barely blinked an eye whenever Jonny yelled at him. Nothing was enough to make him leave and yell back, and maybe that's what's the breaking point for Jonny now. Patrick's never taken any shit from him, he's never let Jonny get away with bullying him around until suddenly it seemed like Jonny could stab him with a knife and Patrick wouldn't bat an eye.

"I'm just trying to help," Patrick says, the words leaving his mouth slow and careful like he's doing his best not to lash out and yell back, like there's just as much frustration boiling inside of him as Jonny is feeling himself.

Jonny pushes himself up, Patrick's arms slipping away from his waist, his face blank when Jonny turns and meets his eyes.

He inhales, swallowing down the sudden rush of irritating anger. "Guess what? You're not fucking helping."

Jonny could pinpoint the moment that his words reach Patrick's brain, his façade cracking, a raw vulnerability making its way to his face instead of the patient understanding Jonny kept finding there over the last weeks.

The temperature in the room seems to drop, Jonny almost stops breathing as guilt starts clawing at his heart. Patrick's blinking rapidly, like he's the one who's about to cry now, and Jonny wants to reach out and apologize and tell him how incredibly scared he is, but Patrick starts moving before he can, away from Jonny and away from the couch.

"I guess I'll just leave then," he says, still soft.

It's so much worse than if he were just yelling at Jonny.

The words sound even more final than seeing the Hawks' press release on the NHL app.

Jonny clenches his jaw, inhaling.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Patrick's going to be gone soon anyway. Jonny might as well start looking after himself again now.

But then the front door falls shut behind Patrick, and a silence falls over the condo that's thrumming through Jonny's entire body, through the void inside of him that was left by hockey and by Patrick.

He barely sleeps that night and keeps jerking awake to the sound of a key turning inside the lock of the door. It's like a punch to the gut every time he realizes that it's just in his head. When he wakes up, there's no warm mug of coffee on his nightstand, no warm body pressed against his.

It takes even longer than usual to roll out of bed, and he takes a long shower, his entire body numb enough that he barely feels the cold water on his skin. He takes the meds that seem to do nothing for him, calls his mom, texts his friends, and—

Sits on the couch and stares into nothing.

He's felt crushing guilt even before yesterday. He promised Patrick that they would bring hockey back to Chicago and now he's leaving the team right at the start of possibly the toughest season of their career. He's been doing a lot to push Patrick away, even before his outburst yesterday. But now the guilt is overwhelmingly strong, and the short satisfaction of finally having gotten a reaction from Patrick seems stupid and childish. Jonny's always known that he can be irritating and unbearable to be around when he's angry or anxious, that he's lashing out at those around him with little regard for their feelings. He used to do it constantly when they were rookies sharing a hotel room, when he'd yell at Patrick until Patrick left the room and didn't talk to him after getting back.

He's always hurt the people that he loves the most.

His mom used to tell him that one day it would push people away. It's the fear that she was right—that maybe it's been too much and that it's too late now—that keeps him from calling Patrick. The fear that Patrick's not going to be so quick to forgive him now and the knowledge that Jonny doesn't deserve his forgiveness.

Jonny's sipping a smoothie when Patrick enters the apartment again later, and he flinches, his heart jumping, then dropping as his eyes catch on Patrick's face. It's closed off, and he doesn't even bother taking off his shoes or jacket at the door. Jonny fucking hates it when people enter the apartment with their shoes, but he knows better than saying anything.

"I'm just here to grab my iPad," Patrick says before Jonny can figure out the best way to apologize.

He's barely looking at Jonny, and Jonny might deserve that but it hurts nonetheless.

"Pat, I—" His voice cracks. "I didn't mean to—I'm so fucking sorry."

Patrick doesn't step closer but something in his face softens.

Jonny closes his eyes, counts down from three, opens them again, and inhales.

"I don't know why I said all that. I'm just really scared, and I can't—I wasn't thinking straight."

To his own surprise, Patrick lets out a soft chuckle. He walks into the kitchen, past the kitchen island, close enough that Jonny could curl his fingers around his waist and pull him into a hug. Instead, he almost holds his breath as Patrick lifts his head and gently taps his index finger against Jonny's forehead, right between his eyebrows.

"Sometimes I'm wondering if you're thinking at all."

"Most of the time no."

Patrick laughs again, the sound brighter now. He gently rubs his thumb along Jonny's temple, looking up at him with bright blue eyes.

"How are you today? Better?"

"The morning sucked. It's—yeah, it's better now."

"Okay," Patrick says softly. "Good."

"I want you to—can you stay here? Please?"

Patrick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

"You said—"

"I know. I know what I said." Jonny shakes his head. "But I'm dumb. You shouldn't listen to me."

He earns another grin, a little crooked, but it's a start. Patrick lets his hand slide along Jonny's shoulder and arm before dropping it, leaning against the kitchen island.

Jonny inhales. He can do this. He can be a mature adult and talk about his feelings and admit his faults.

"I'm really fucking scared," he repeats. "I'm scared of losing hockey and that it'll always be like this. I'm jealous that you still get to play even though I wouldn't wish this on anyone. And you might not understand what it feels like, but you've been there for all of it and you get it more than anyone else. And—I appreciate everything you've done. More than I could ever tell you. You've been amazing, and I would have lost my sanity without you. So—you being here has helped more than anything else, and I'm really, _really_ scared of being on my own when you're leaving at the start of the season."

Patrick grabs his hand and squeezes, but Jonny wouldn't need the encouragement to keep going. Now that he's started talking, it's hard to stop. And it's better, a more productive way than randomly lashing out yesterday.

"I know you're struggling too. I know the last few months have sucked. And you've been a lot more patient with me than I deserve. I know that I was an insufferable asshole most of the time. I don't know how you put up with me. But—I've heard you cry when you were calling your sisters, I know it's been scary for you to lie awake with me. And I hate it when you're miserable and worried, and I hate that I'm the one who's responsible for that. So, when I was saying all that shit—maybe I was just trying to hurt you to finally make you acknowledge that you're miserable because of me."

Patrick's clinging to his hand now, his grip surprisingly firm. He's looking at Jonny, a soft sigh leaving his lips. He opens the fridge, grabs two bottles of Gatorade, and pushes one of them into Jonny's hands before taking a long sip from his own.

"I'm not miserable because of you. I worry about you. All the time. Because I love you and because I want you to be happy and healthy, and you've been neither lately. But that isn't your fault. I'm sorry if I made you feel like that, I just didn't want to worry you even more. You're just—you're always there for everyone, you've been there for me so many times, and I just wanted to be there for you now."

Patrick pauses to inhale, gazing straight at Jonny.

"We talked about this, Jon. We might not be married, but we would be if it wasn't for hockey. And I might not have ever made that promise during a wedding ceremony, but that doesn't mean that it isn't there. It's you and me, together. No matter what. You might be an insufferable asshole, but I knew that even before the first date or the first kiss. So, of course, I'm here. I'll always be here, even when the season starts. I've talked to your mom already, and she'll stay with you for the first few days when I'm gone. Maybe she can knock some sense into you and make you believe that you're not letting the team down by taking care of yourself."

When—

"You—you talked to my mom?"

Patrick laughs. "Yeah, Jonny. Of fucking course I talked to your mom. What? Did you think I was just gonna fuck off and leave you after all those weeks where I barely left the room without you?"

"No, but—"

Jonny had been so focused on Patrick and how much Patrick's sheer presence helped that it barely occurred to him that his mom would hop on the next plane if he asked. That there are other people out there who care about him.

"I don't deserve you."

"No," Patrick agrees, his tone too serious for Jonny's liking. He sighs. "Look, I think it's gonna be good for us to have her stay here for a while. I know you don't need a babysitter, but I'll feel better knowing that she's here. I think we can both use some time away from each other. It's been a lot—for both of us. And—it's fine that you resent me a little for playing. I get that. I'd feel the same. But you need to focus on getting better, and I promise I'll still be there. Anytime."

"I know that," Jonny whispers.

Relief hits him, so strong that his knees are feeling jittery, the tight feeling around his chest leaving, slowly allowing him to breathe again.

He didn't fuck up badly enough for Patrick to leave.

"Good." Patrick steps closer now, wrapping his arms around Jonny's neck, burying his face in his chest.

Even though he's still taller, Jonny's lost a little weight over the summer, and he feels small and weak as Patrick gently pushes him over to the couch, rolling on top of Jonny, his forehead pressed against his.

"They'll figure it out," Patrick says with such confidence that even Jonny believes it. "And you'll be back on the ice with us, and we'll light it up together again. And then we’ll retire, and you can take me to fucking Canada and make me live in your stupid lake house and I'll bitch about the weather and you'll threaten to drown me in the lake."

"That—yeah, that sounds good to me."

Jonny lets himself laugh a little; he can picture it so clearly, Patrick next to him on a boat, curled up underneath at least five blankets.

He doesn't sleep any better this night, but there's a mug of coffee waiting for him when he wakes up, and Patrick's stroking a hand through his short hair, his body pressed against Jonny's, a sensation so familiar that Jonny could cry with relief that he's still lucky enough to have this.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [ tumblr ](https://jonny-toews.tumblr.com/)


End file.
